Perfect Picture
by Thoughts in Chaos
Summary: AU: John Cena is the world's hottest action movie star. After suffering an injury on the last day of filming his latest movie, he decides to head back to West Newbury to recuperate & sort out the state of his personal life. Discovering he has a new neighbour he learns that behind the perfect pictures others paint for their lives things aren't always how they appear. Cena/OC/Ambrose
1. Chapter 1

With an annoyed groan, an exhausted John Cena pulled his head out from the pillow he had wrapped around it in a futile attempt to block out the noise. It was almost midnight and the music next door was still going strong with no sign of stopping any time soon. After he had undergone the surgery on his tricep only a day or two after the last day of filming his latest movie, _Impulse_, he had decided to come home to West Newbury to recuperate, instead of staying in either LA or Boston as he normally would have. It had been too long since he had been home, and after the past eighteen months he had endured in both his professional and personal lives it seemed like a great place to recharge the proverbial batteries. However, he was unaware that he had acquired neighbours that had bought the property that was across the road from his own on the small town's outskirts. Climbing out from under the covers he snapped on a bedside lamp and pulled on some shorts and a shirt, it was time to have a word with the new folks.

The late summer evening was balmy with only the slightest breeze disturbing the air, carrying with it the scent of lavender and roses that lined the path of stones and solar garden lamps that led to the front door of the weatherboard house painted the colour of forest green. Knocking on the door didn't get him any response, his sleep deprived brain eventually coming to the conclusion he couldn't be heard. Rubbing his eyes in irritation he pounded three times with the flat of a closed fist, its booming report could be heard clearly. As the sound suddenly stopped John had already decided to let this new guy have it. There was just one problem with that plan; it wasn't a man who answered.

He stood there for a second, the wind for his planned tangent abruptly taken out of his sails as he stared into large hazel eyes so light they looked almost amber, framed by unruly ebon locks. A men's black shirt that was at least two sizes too big, showing off hints of tattoos and the hem of a small pair of shorts underneath from which seemed painted on long toned legs, brazenly stated 'my resolution is to get healthier while still destroying myself with drugs and alcohol'. She was gorgeous, and somewhere in the back of his mind a familiarity tickled his memory, the reason why being just out of reach.

A finely sculpted brow arched in the stretching silence. "Can I help you?"

He mentally shook himself, he hadn't meant to ogle his new neighbour so overtly. "Hi, I live across the street. Not to be a pain in the ass, but do you think you can keep the music down? I'm trying to sleep."

To his mild surprise she began to look embarrassed, "Sorry, I didn't realise anyone actually lived there. The place looked like it had been vacant since I've been here."

Absently he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ignore the accent which his brain decided was also attractive. Maybe it was just the pain killers toying with him. "Yeah, I travel a lot for my job, so I'm not home much."

"Ahh, fair enough," She replied with what sounded like complete understanding, "I'll knock it off the noise then."

"Thanks, I appreciate it." He found himself giving her one last, but this time more covert, once over before he began to leave. _Definitely easy on the eyes_. "Good night." She simply nodded in reply and closed the door, the faint sounds of several locks clicking into place sounded loud in the now quiet atmosphere and left him curious as he trekked back across the road.

_Who needs that many locks in West Newbury?_

* * *

He slept soundly, aided by medication and his own exhaustion that had accumulated over so many long months both at home and abroad while adhering to relentless, all consuming filming schedules. He thought he woke up for a brief moment, the pale light of a clear dawn curling around the edges of the drawn curtains as a throaty rumble of an engine started, sitting idle for a few moments before it changed gears and quickly disappeared down the road. As the peace and quiet quickly settled back in so did his dreams. His dreams where a whirlwind of people and places, of hot summer days and longer nights. Triumph, heartache, victory and defeat. Of large hazel eyes, hair the colour of raven's feathers spread wild and free and legs so long they seemed to stretch forever. His subconscious was a vivid swirl of activity.

When he woke up a second time the sky was a brilliant crystal blue, the sunlight bright and intense when he pulled open the curtains. Blinking a few times to adjust to the light he looked over at the night stand, the digital clock displaying the time in large green numbers, it was a little past twelve in the afternoon. Rubbing his eyes John headed toward the bathroom with a towel thrown casually over a shoulder. As the cool water ran the courses made from contoured muscle while he worked the soap into a rich lather he tried to keep focused on the regime of recuperation that was set out for his arm, but soon found his mind wandering. Mainly about his new neighbour. Normally when someone met him there was some sort of excited recognition in their eyes. You'd be hard pressed to find someone who hadn't heard of _the_ hottest action superstar since Sylvester Stallone and Arnold Schwarzenegger, even if such movies weren't their personal preference. And yet last night there had been... nothing. Not an involuntary surprised gasp, no 'oh my god, it's you!' exclamations, nothing. Nada. Zip.

The postman could've gotten better recognition than that.

At the same time he felt as if he knew her. Not personally of course, that would've been a meeting he was sure he would have remembered. He wished he could figure out why she triggered this feeling of familiarity, but no matter how hard he tried, nothing specific would come to him. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking.

Abruptly he shook his head, last thing he wanted to do right now was get caught up with another woman. He had only just managed to avoid what had been shaping up to be a very ugly divorce battle, then there he had a string of flings that just seemed to land him in more hot water with gossip columns and the paparazzi. So, for the meant time at least, he was taking a break from the fairer sex, and all the drama that seemed to follow it.

Finishing up in the bathroom he wandered back into the bedroom, remnants of water beading on his broad, tanned chest to trickle their way into the the now damp towel wrapped snugly around his hips while he dug through the dresser draws for something to wear. The warm weather called for light and casual, so he opted for shorts and a favourite basketball singlet, then headed downstairs to search for breakfast. He was staring into the sorry state of the bereft pantry, not even chancing opening the fridge for fear of what might lurk within, when the irritating notes of the announced he had a visitor. First thing he was going to do was get rid of that annoying ass thing that Liz had insisted on. Pulling the door open John greeted by the sight of a small basket stuffed with a variety of cupcakes, doughnuts and other pastries.

"Morning! Or I guess I should say afternoon," The cheery voice declared with an almost musical lilt. When he looked at the offering with a question in his eye, the new neighbour explained the gift. "My way of apologising for last night. I start playing and I lose all track of time. I find sugary goodness has a way of smoothing things over."

He probably would have preferred a good steak a little more, but the smell of freshly baked cake was hard to resist as he accepted the peace offering. "Thanks." Again the elusive familiarity from last night surfaced, even stronger now that it was daylight and her face wasn't partially obscured by the thick mane of black hair, all but the most stubborn strands being held at bay by thick hair ties in a high pony tail. It was a stark contrast to her fair skin, almost as pale as porcelain doll. It seemed to all but glow under the bright light of the summer sun. "This is going to sound crazy, but I feel like I've seen you somewhere before."

He wasn't entirely sure, but he could have sworn an air of anxiety briefly overcame her before she flashed him a small disarming smile, "I just have one of those faces."

"Maybe." He wasn't entirely sure of that, but dropped the subject all the same. They stood there for a moment, neither really sure what to do next. It wasn't every day a stranger showed up on your doorstep with food; unless it was the girl scouts selling cookies. "Would you like to come in?" He abruptly asked, unable to think of anything else to say.

"No, thank you. I think I've imposed enough," She replied, "Besides, I'm sure you have things to do today."

This was true, he conceded. As soon as his mother found out her baby boy was injured and coming home she had insisted on seeing him.

They said their goodbyes and he watched her retreat down the stairs and across the lawn before it occurred to him that he still hadn't even asked her who she was. "What's your name?" He called out.

"Kayley," She replied as she turned around, flashing him that smile again as a hand shielded her eyes from the sun.

"I'm John."

"Maybe I'll see you around."

Despite his initial vow to lay off women, he couldn't help the small spark of anticipation. "Most definitely."

* * *

_I know this concept has probably been done to death by now, but I just can't help myself. Over the past couple of weeks (and more than likely due to the fact he's been sidelined for a few months) my indifference towards Cena has been nudged over enough to start using him in stories beyond his default minor support or straight out bad guy roles I normally peg him for (The Skyfall story not withstanding)._

_Either way, I hope you enjoyed! We'll see if I can actually finish this one._


	2. Chapter 2

After the initial onslaught of motherly love John finally managed to untangle himself from Carol Cena, who hadn't seen her son in almost a year thanks to both his busy work load and living on the west coast. After seeing the sorry state of affairs that was his fridge and food cupboards she had insisted on taking him down to the store to rectify the situation. So, with baskets in hand, mother and son wandered down the isles of the small supermarket as they caught up on events in each other's lives.

"It wasn't nearly as bad as the press made it out to be."

The look on Carol's face told him she didn't believe her boy for a second. She loved him as only a mother can, but the past couple of years his antics and lifestyle had began to make her worried just what was happing in his life all the way over in California."John, the woman took to your Escalade with a pickaxe. Where did she even get one of those in the middle of Beverly Hills anyway?"

"Your guess is as good as mine." A lull in their conversation cropped up as he perused the different cuts of meat that sat in their styrofoam trays behind the tight plastic wrap, his wish for steak soon to be fulfilled. "Hey, Ma," He started as he picked a couple of generously sized T-Bones and some skinless chicken breasts, flashing a Hollywood smile at two young teenage girls who had been following him down the isles while whispering excitedly to each other for the past five minutes. After they snapped some quick pictures of him with their phones before dashing off, John finally broached a question that had bugging him all day. "How long has that place across the road from me been sold for?"

"You met your neighbour, did you?" John simply nodded in reply, prompting his mother to continue, "That surprises me, in all honesty."

"What do you mean?"

"The place got sold about twelve months a go I think, but the word is around town that the woman who bought it is rather... elusive."

"In other words she's a hermit."

"Don't be rude." Carol lightly elbowed her son for his blunt statement before going on. "What I meant was she just appears to be a fiercely private person. About the only one who knows for sure what she looks like is old Herb when he delivers a weekly order of groceries. Other than that the only time she's seen around town is when she's riding that motorbike of hers." She paused as she opted for a carton of low fat milk, "Apart from Herb and the local girl scouts selling cookies, she pretty much has kept to herself. It's made some folks suspicious and of course there's a few rumours floating around, but that's small town living for you."

This John knew all to well. As a kid with the build of a stunted bean pole he had been subjected to his fair share of bullies and rumours until he he had made that fateful decision to bulk up and learn how to defend himself in the near constant string of fights and scraps he kept getting into. As a result he had no time or patience for gossip mongers and rumour mills, despite the mile wide trail he had left in his wake over the past two years.

They finished up and headed to the check out he paid for all the goods, then carried the assortment of bags while Carol unlocked the Chrysler PT Cruiser he had bought for her after he had received the money from his major film years a go. He had offered several times over the years to get her a new one but she had refused, stating that this one worked just fine so there was no point in replacing it. When the car arrived home and pulled up into his driveway the garage door across the road began to open to the same rumble he had heard the morning before, what emerged was an immaculate Triumph Bonneville motorcycle. The sun reflected off the oily blue mirrored visor of the helmet as the rider looked up and waved before pulling onto the road in a direction that would lead out of town, a somewhat bulky pack firmly strapped down to the back of the seat.

"It's a wonder she doesn't cook in those leathers," Carol commented.

"Better than having the road rip large lumps of skin away if she ever came off."

His mother wrinkled he nose up at the mental image her son had just introduced her to, "Dangerous contraptions. I can't understand how anyone thinks riding one is a good idea."

"It's a thrill thing," He replied with a shrug. While his first love would always be muscle cars, he had learned to ride motorbikes as part of being able to do as many of his own stunts as possible and found it a rather enjoyable pastime. There was a certain feeling of freedom being anonymous behind the helmet's face shield as you cruised down the road.

Putting the subject out of her mind, Carol abruptly changed the topic. "So, your brothers are coming over for dinner on Saturday. I expect you to show up, mister. No excuses."

John simply chuckled as he balanced a full load of bags in one arm as he fished through his pocket for the front door key. One missed the family dinner without a valid explanation at their own peril. "Wouldn't miss it for anything, Ma."

* * *

The road was dappled with shadows from the large old trees that lined either side as the Bonneville's tires ate up the bitumen. The passing light flashed across the highly polished the blue and white paint job and flowed along spotless chrome. Her grandfather's love for classic British bikes had been passed onto Kayley at an early age, with some of her fondest memories sitting firmly between his arms while astride his old BSA Gold Star flying down the dirt tracks of the isolated farm her grandparents had owned. When both he and her grandmother had passed it felt as if her young world had ended, until she eventually traded in the streets of Melbourne and escaped the cold, resentful attitude of her mother for the vibrant life of London the day she had turned eighteen. Fourteen years had passed since then, and she hadn't looked back. But for everything that had happened, for the life she had unexpectedly found in the UK and beyond, it had all come crashing down two years a go.

_Wade_.

She shifted gears and poured on more speed, forcing herself to concentrate on the road and avoid the pitfall of melancholy and despair that lay there like a gaping maw, ready to swallow her whole if given half a chance. Ten minutes later she slowed, then turned off the road towards what looked like some sort of clubhouse that sat in front of a clearing that stretched for almost a mile. Outside of it sat a lone truck covered in dried mud and dust, a man dressed in faded camo fatigues and an old army issue shirt was leaning up against the tailgate taking a drag from a cigarette. He didn't say anything as the bike pulled up next to his truck, or when she unstrapped her pack and headed into the nearby building, only to reappear a few minutes later dressed in clothing similar to his own. Finishing off his cigarette he dropped the butt on the gravel and ground it out with the toe of his boot, then reached into the tray of the old Ford and pulled out a long, narrow aluminium case and a pair of binoculars.

"Thought we can take a break from small arms today," Was his answer when she looked at the case and then back at him expectantly, "Lets go."

The pair headed out onto the field, where several targets had been set up at increasingly further distances until the last could barely be seen by the eye alone. When they reached a spot he was satisfied with he handed over the case. Kneeling down on the soft grass Kayley snapped open the clasps and opened it, finding a Remington 700 rifle fitted snugly in the impact resistant foam interior with a scope sitting in its own moulded place just below the gun. He watched in silence as she affixed the scope to the rifle the way he had shown her previously, then they proceeded to lay prone on their bellies. Pushing a few stray light brown strands of hair out of his face he held the binoculars up and waited.

The air was filled with the songs of native birds and the chittering of insects as Kayley made her body relax, taking a few slow deep breaths to find her natural point of aim and adjusting her position until she was satisfied. With her finger curled around the trigger she held a breath and a moment later fired at the target seven hundred yards away. The crack of the shot rolled like thunder and a metallic clanging confirming the hit, but only just.

"Damn."

"Don't sweat it, we have all afternoon." He smirked in mild amusement as she huffed in annoyance before shuffling her hips slightly to the left and settled in again. One thing he had learned early on was that she had a tendency to be impatient. Making her shoot at long range targets was a good way to get her not to rush her shots, especially when he set her challenges with a limited amount of rounds. To think when she showed up on the range nearly ten months a go and had approached him to teach her to shoot he had said no. It was funny how fast he had changed his tune when she had offered to pay him three times what he could earn in a year. Up front and in cash.

Dean Ambrose was former army infantry who had shown great talent as a sniper. Having come from one of the poorest areas of Cincinnati, enlisting opened the door to the sort of life he thought he wanted, to travel the world and get paid for it. He not only endured boot camp, he thrived on the challenges it offered and passed with flying colours. It wasn't until years later when he ran afoul of a superior officer. He found the man arrogant and inept, taking credit for the actions of others and incompetent under fire. The last straw had come when Ambrose had disagreed with a decision that was made and he had deliberately disobeyed orders. Despite the overall positive result from his actions, it was then he became a victim of the old adage 'it's not what you know, it's who you know'. While the guy had been nothing more than a glorified arse kissing desk jockey in Dean's eyes, he had more than enough pull to get him court marshalled and discharged. With his career ended so abruptly and thrown out on his arse faster than he could blink, he spent the past couple of years on the move, never in any one place for too long before finding himself in the middle of Massachusetts.

It wasn't long after this that Kayley had found him. For his part Dean had recognised who she was almost instantly, despite the basic disguise of overly large sunglasses and a ball cap. Initially he didn't give a shit one way or the other what her reasons for the lessons were, but the cash she carried was green so he went with it. At first Kayley would have been lucky to hit the broad side of a barn, never having handled a firearm in her life, but inevitably she became more comfortable with the idea of handling them which in turn improved her aim. He had never asked and she never said anything, but it eventually became an unspoken understanding as to why she wanted to do this. Why she _needed_ to do this. And while he would never say they had gotten overly close, Ambrose felt some form of growing affection for her, like a teacher with a favourite student. He wished every day could be as simple as the afternoons they spent out here, just two people shooting targets without the the complications of the outside world or it's blunt, cold realities.

_CRACK!_

The bullet missed, kicking dirt up where it struck just below the target and causing the shooter to growl in frustration.

"Relax. You can't shoot for shit if you're tense."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious."

"You're welcome."

He observed her go through the routine they had established before going back to his view through the binoculars once again. Silence gently pressed in on them only to be chased off with a third round.

"God fucking damn it!" Another miss. Clearly her mind wasn't where it should be today. "How the hell do you expect me to hit that? It's over six hundred metres away."

Casually he traded the binoculars for the rifle. Getting comfortable he closed his eyes for a moment, feeling his body relaxed as he willed it to, made a few minute adjustments, then fired. After a moment he fired again, and then a third time. Each bullet hit in a tight grouping almost dead centre on target.

"Excuses are nothing more than that; excuses," He said simply before passing the Remington back, "I don't care if you end up looking like something that belongs on a plate at Red Lobster, we're not moving from this spot until you can get at least three rounds through the inner circle." Pulling out a slightly rumpled pack from his back pocket, Ambrose pulled out a cigarette and lit up. Taking possession of the field glasses once again, the smoke dangled loosely between his lips. "Now fucking _relax_, and focus on the target."

* * *

It was almost dark by the time John heard the rumble of the Triumph's engine as he stood on his back porch with a beer in hand and enjoying the smells that wafted up from his grill, the noise becoming muted as the automatic garage door closed behind the bike before it stopped altogether. He found himself briefly wondering what she had been doing all afternoon. Picking up a plate he had bought out with him, John placed the pair of large steaks on it and walked inside. Opening the fridge he pulled out the giant bowl of salad Carol had made before she finally left and put it on the table. As he looked at the simple spread he came to the conclusion he may have been overestimating his appetite be cooking up both T-bones. Scratching his head for a moment he debated on what to do before the idea came to him.

Kayley peeled off her leather jacket, feeling hot, hungry and a little tired. Ambrose hadn't been kidding when he said they weren't moving from that spot on the range until she had risen to his challenge. Looking down at her now pink tinged arms she grimaced a little, she really hoped that was because of the jacket and not the sun. A sudden knock from the front door distracted her from the contemplation of the state of her skin, wondering who had come calling. She didn't know anyone in town and hadn't bothered to try to change that fact, so to say she was unused to visitors was something of an understatement.

As she peered through the tiny spyhole she was both surprised and curious at the same time. Twisting and turning several locks the hardwood barrier finally opened and she appeared, her right arm hidden behind the door. "Hi, John."

"Hey," He replied with a small smile, feeling strangely giddy that she had remembered his name. "Listen, I hope this doesn't come across as weird or creepy or-" _Stop it, man, your rambling_. He took a breath and exhaled it in a quick little puff, "What I'm trying to say is – would you like to have dinner with me?"

Well this was certainly out of the blue. "Right now?"

"Uh, yeah." He felt himself getting a little flustered at her surprised response, despite all efforts to the contrary. Dammit, why was he suddenly acting like he was sixteen all over again? It had to be this damn town, there's no way this would've have happened back in LA. He could pull any woman he wanted like he was the world's strongest magnet. _Such a stupid idea_; he had to back out of this pronto, before he made an even bigger fool of himself. "Listen, if you have other plans I totally understand-"

"No!" Kayley blurted out, cutting him off. It was kind of endearing to see this strong, confident man all of a sudden become as nervous as a school boy. "No plans at all. Think you can give me a few minutes though?"

"Sure, not a problem at all."

"Great, I'll be over in five."

As John walked off she closed the door, resting her forehead against it and sighed heavily as she closed her eyes. When she opened them again Kayley looked down at the Glock that rested in her right hand. _What the __**hell**__ am I doing?_ Had she really become so paranoid that she wouldn't answer her own door unarmed any more? Had she lost that much trust in the human race that she was starting to view everyone as a potential threat?

Making her way into the bedroom she locked the pistol away in her bedside draw, then sat down on a nearby chair and pulled her boots off with a little effort an peeled off the durable pants. Heading into the small en-suite she avoided looking into the mirror, not wanting to see what may be lurking in her reflection. Splashing cold water onto her face then running a wash cloth under the tap she gave her exposed skin a quick rub down to free herself from the feeling of clinging sweat, then quickly changed into a pair of cotton shorts and a fresh sleeveless shirt. After a cursory brush of her hair and a quick stop to collect something from her own fridge as an after thought, Kayley once more headed across the road to have dinner with a complete stranger...


	3. Chapter 3

John was fidgeting with last second table settings while trying to get a hold of himself. It was just a friendly dinner after all, merely to get to know his neighbour... who he just happened to find smoking hot. A little fairer in complexion than he was used to, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. After living in the epicentre of where being blond and sun kissed was forever the 'in' thing, it was something refreshingly different. _Calm down_, he chided himself, _You just got out of one mess with a woman, you don't need to go rushing headlong into another_.

At first he put both plates at opposing far ends of the table, but almost immediately thought it to formal considering just how large it was. He was in the middle of trying to decide where would be personal, but not blatantly so, when the doorbell chimed. On his way to the door he quickly turned on the stereo and left it on the current radio station it was turned into, who was currently playing a listener requested tracks. He made a mental note to change the station later, rock and heavy metal wasn't so much his thing. He didn't hate it, he just much preferred rap instead.

"Hey," he grinned, noticing the bottle in her hand, "You bought wine?"

"Yeah," She replied, looking a little unsure of the last second decision she had made, "It's not a problem, is it?"

"Totally fine. More than fine, even," John assured as she accepted his invitation inside and handed the bottle over, noting the label was of a well known vintage. She had taste it seemed, and it made him glad he didn't just bust a couple of beers out of the fridge. "In fact I can't even remember the last time I had a drop of a good red."

He led her down the hall until it opened up to the open planned living room. A spacious kitchen on the left with a large dining table separating it and what seemed to be an impromptu man cave with a blue felt covered pool table, wall mounted flat-screen, dartboard and other odds and ends. It clashed with the aforementioned kitchen, which had been designed with a distinctly feminine flair. "This is... interesting interior decorating."

John simply let out a half amused snort as he searched for appropriate glasses; 'interesting' was being kind about it. Just another thing he had to get around to sorting out. "My ex and I couldn't really agree on anything, then we ended up splitting and I never got around to changing it since I'm hardly ever here." Finding what he had been searching for he returned to the table and placed one next to each plate, then pulled out a chair. "Please, take a seat." Kayley obliged and soon they began the dance of getting to know you small talk. John was mildly surprised when she revealed that yes, she did in fact very much knew who he was; she just didn't care. Whether or not she was telling the truth about it he couldn't decide, it wouldn't be the first time he would have been burned by the deceptively simple statement.

"So where are you from, originally?" He asked as he loaded his fork with steak and salad leaves, "You almost sound English, but there's something not quite right about it."

"I was born in Melbourne," she replied, "When I was eighteen I moved to London, and ended up starting to lose my own accent fairly quickly in favour of the local one. I could never shake it completely though, so it just sounds like I'm mauling both of them at once."

"That's a fair way to go to leave home," John commented.

Kayley simply shrugged, "I didn't have much to tie me there, so I wasn't losing anything of importance in the long run." She chewed thoughtfully on a piece of tomato, thinking about what she had just said and opted for a slight correction, "I do miss going to the MCG for the occasional game of footy though, especially during September. The energy the grand final brings out is nuts, and it's so much fun."

He had seen an AFL match once or twice before when he'd go to Sydney for the occasional movie promotional tour, and though he didn't quite understand the rules the fast pace, high flying marks and sometimes downright brutal tackles made it one hell of a game to watch. "Have you ever been back?"

"A few times, always on business though."

"What sort of business?"

"I worked in music, with touring bands and all that sort of thing." Taking a sip from her wine glass she sought to change the subject, the specifics of her job wasn't something she really wanted to get into if she could help it. "So what about you? I imagine there's a fair amount of 'facts' floating around that are anything but."

He grinned and leaned back in his chair, "If I started listing them all we'd be here until the sun comes up."

"So you don't own a pair of Siberian tigers?"

"Nope."

"You've never wrestled a bear?"

"Sorry."

"And you didn't streak across the grounds during a local game in your birthday suit when you were nineteen?"

"That one is actually true. It was part of a bet and I had to do it if I lost." She laughed softly as he got into the story behind it and he decidedly liked the sound, it was almost melodic. He idly wondered if she could sing.

They spent the next couple of hours simply talking about anything and everything frivolous, the conversation flowing free and easy. He couldn't remember the last time he enjoyed something so simple like this without having a pack of photographers camping out on his front yard. He found himself wanting more of it, of this, but didn't want to come across as overeager. Besides, for all he knew there could be another man in the picture somewhere. God he hoped not...

She stretched and caught the over-flowery designed clock hanging on the wall, it was almost midnight. Had they really spent that much time talking? Seemed like forever since she had that long of a conversation with anyone. "I really hate to be the one that brings this all to a close, but I have to be up early in the morning," Kayley said with a little reluctance, "I have to head down to Boston and pick up some things."

He was disappointed but managed to hide it. "Well perhaps we could do this again sometime." He suggested, trying to keep the jittery nerves he felt in check.

"I'd like that." They stood up and he escorted her to the front door, "Good night, John, and thanks for dinner."

"Any time," He replied with a grin, "Sleep well, Kayley."

* * *

True to her word an engine and AC/DC's _Flick Of The Switch_ served as John's seven am wake up call, a metallic black Mercedes SLK 350 pulling out of the driveway and zipped down the road with the top down. It seemed as if his neighbour had a thing for speed, not to mention money to spare if she could drop so much on a car like that. He recalled her saying she worked in music but hadn't elaborated on it, making him wonder why she was so vague with the answer. He still felt as if he had seen her face somewhere, but all he had was a first name and a vague job description. Perhaps he should do some digging, it wouldn't be the first time a woman would have attempted to take advantage of him and sink her claws into his bank account, especially one as good looking as Kayley.

Getting up he had a quick shower then headed downstairs to have some breakfast. Finding his computer tablet he set it up on the table and began the not so exciting task of finding ideas for the complete overhaul he wanted done for his kitchen, then finding a designer to install it all. After an hour he had an general picture coming together in his head, bookmarking the pages that had caught his attention for future reference. After doing the dishes he was ready to head out himself, ready to start his first day of therapy on his arm when his cell rang.

He checked the caller ID, recognising it as one of his brothers, "Hey, Matt."

"Hey, bro," his younger sibling replied, "How's the arm?"

"Was just heading out to rehab now, actually," John replied as he walked out the door, "How's things with you?"

"Good. Was just calling to let you know that Mum called me, dinner has been changed to lunch. Steve had to work the night shift."

"Cool deal." Climbing into his Lincoln Navigator and was about to turn the ignition over when an idea came to him. "You think you can do me a favour?"

"Depends what it is," Matt replied cautiously, "I'm not fixing any more tickets for you if that's what it's about."

"No, nothing like that," John grinned, "I was wondering if you could find out someone's last name for me."

"Who?" Matt sounded sceptical, perhaps a little suspicious. As a cop it had become almost second nature.

"My neighbour." he answered, "She's definitely not a local, and I get the feeling I've definitely seen her somewhere before. I just can't place it."

"The chick who owns the Triumph?"

"Yeah."

Matt sighed and John could almost see the face-palm that was happening, "Has it ever occurred to you to, oh I don't know, grow a set and ask her?"

"I somehow doubt it would be that easy. I had her over for dinner last night and she was rather vague on what she did for a living," John explained, "Though whatever it is, it sure as hell pays well."

"Wait, you had dinner with this girl already? Wasn't half the point of you coming home to _avoid_ dating for a while?"

He felt irritated at the accusation, "It wasn't a damn date, Matt."

"Sounds like it to me." He could hear him shuffle papers around, organising the usual small mountain of paperwork on his desk if John had to guess. "Well whatever you do I suggest not getting on her bad side."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Rumour is she's consistently booked out the whole shooting range three times a week for the past ten months. The guy she found for lessons is ex army, so no doubt whatever she's paying him and the club is well worth the supposed price tag." As if anticipating what his brother was going to ask next Matt cut him off at the pass, "And no, I'm not giving you any names. Go out and socialise if you really want to know."

"But-"

"No."

"Fine," John grumbled, "I'll see you at Ma's tomorrow. Afterwards maybe we can all head down to the bar for a few drinks."

"So long as you buy the first round."

He couldn't help but chuckle, "Alright. I'll see you tomorrow."

* * *

_I recall reading somewhere that one of Cena's brothers was a cop but I have no idea which it is, so apologies if I got the wrong one. _

_I have a fairly good idea where I want this story to go, but right now it's competing with Stockholm Syndrome which I'm having a crazy amount of fun writing at the moment. Hopefully this won't be left on they wayside too much. Cross your fingers!_


	4. Chapter 4

Lunch at the Cena household was, as always, loud, a little chaotic and a lot of fun. It had been far too long since John had been home for one of the monthly family gatherings and he hadn't realised just how much he had missed it. Phone calls and emails were one thing, seeing everyone in person and having a good time was another. As it all came to a close and the evening began to set in only three of the five Cena brothers headed down to the local bar for a few drinks and maybe to stir up some trouble, Matt having been called out last minute on something he would only explain as 'police business'.

The Drunken Monkey was a small but lively bar that had a mystery give away on Fridays and a weekly karaoke competition on Saturdays, so the place was always busy over the course of the weekend. They managed to find a cramped table along the wall, Dan catching the attention of the nearest waitress and ordering a round of beers.

"So," Sean began, and already John knew what he was going to ask. There were few, if any, secrets kept between the siblings, especially when it came to women. "Matt tells us you had a date with that neighbour of yours last night."

"It wasn't-" John stopped himself with an exasperated sigh. There was no point in arguing, they'd never believe him no matter what he said, "Fine, if that's what you want to call it."

"Is she hot?"

That was Sean, about as tactful as an accident prone bull in an antique store and straight to the point.

"Of course she is," Dan chimed in, "He's a Hollywood superstar, when do they _not_ date hot chicks?"

"Good point." The waitress returned and deposited three open bottles of beer and moved on to the next table, "So on a scale of one to ten, what would you put her as?"

"I'm not getting into that," John said simply, taking a mouthful of his drink.

"Come on, man, you have to give us something."

"Pale skin, Black hair and hazel eyes," He replied, giving in a little. "You happy now?"

"Could you possibly be _any_ more vague?" Sean pushed, "For all I know you just described Kayley Taylor."

"Wait, what?"

"Kayley Taylor," Sean repeated, "You know, the singer from that English rock band Bad Mile?" He looked at his brother as though his IQ had suddenly dropped sharply, "They had that huge single that was on your first film's soundtrack."

"You ok, bro?" Dan asked, wondering what had John looking so rattled all of a sudden.

"Uhh, Yeah. No problem at all." Finishing his beer he signalled the waitress for another round, "I just gotta hit the head, I'll be back in a minute."

He moved through the crowd, waving and having a few quick words with people who knew him long before his celebrity status along the way. Reaching the relative privacy of the men's restroom he made it to the urinal and began to relieve himself.

The annoying piece of the puzzle fell into place as the realisation finally hit him. He _did_ know who she was after all. He couldn't believe he hadn't picked up on it sooner. The song had been played for months just about everywhere he went after his first film, _The Marine_, had been released, along with the accompanying video clip being aired on just about every music show at the time that he could think of. It's what had catapulted them straight into the limelight where they had consistently stayed until an incident two years a go in Miami. Christ, no wonder she wasn't big on socialising...

He finished up then washed his hands, circling around a couple of guys coming in and managed to make his way back to the table. Already the staring, pointing and picture taking had started, all he was waiting for now was the first person to come up and ask for an autograph. He glanced at an oversized clock on the wall, mentally betting with himself that it would start in about five minutes... ten minutes tops. In the mean time Sean was still trying to pump him for information about John's neighbour but he wasn't budging, especially now that he knew her identity.

Just when he had the first signature seeker pegged a disturbance started up at the corner of the bar. Three men looked as if they had a definitive problem with a fourth who was sitting on a stool and had been minding his own business. From the bits of conversation he heard it sounded like it had something to do with the local shooting range that was several miles out of town being unavailable when they wanted it. Hadn't Matt said something about that? Was the guy they were harassing the man his brother merely described as 'ex army'? By the looks of things the decision had some of the local boys disgruntled, and had intentions of taking it out on the poor sap at the bar. He was thinking of intervening when there was an explosion of violent movement, two of the antagonists dropped in the blink of an eye and the third had his face jammed painfully against the bar-top. Quiet words were exchanged and the guy who almost had his head caved in turned a few shades paler.

Dean looked around, the chaotic noise of poorly sung music and dozens of conversations nearby came to an abrupt halt at the altercation that had just taken place. _God damn it_, all he wanted was to have a few beers in peace, and he couldn't even have that without some asshole harassing him about the damn range. It had been almost a fucking year, he thought they would've gotten over it by now. Deciding to make himself scarce before the local law showed up he shoved his unwanted playmate into the groaning heap on the floor that was his two pals, threw some bills on the bar to cover his tab and left. He was so over this shit and he'd had enough of this town, but he had made a deal and he was determined to see it through. When it was over, who knows, maybe it would be time to take off. Perhaps he'd head back to Cincinnati, he hadn't been home in years.

Slowly the noise resumed and the instigators of the whole thing left with their tails between their legs. John turned back to converse with his brothers for a while, and refrained from heaving the sigh when a nervous touch tapped him on the shoulder. _And here we go_...

* * *

John didn't see Kayley for a few days after that. He was busy with his rehab, family commitments and long phone calls with his agent, Vickie Guerrero, who was keeping him up to date with how _Impulse_ was coming along in editing, when it would be released and the estimated amount of time he would have to spend promoting it. He was also getting some new scripts sent to him to read, the filming ready to start after his arm was healed if he chose to do any of them.

After coming home from a check up with one of his doctors John was lazing around on the couch. The TV was on but he wasn't paying any attention to it, whatever was airing serving more as background noise as he surfed the web on his tablet. He had grown bored of looking at endless styles of light fixtures and cupboard handles and had decided to do some digging to see what he could find about his new neighbour. At first he wondered if it were stalker-ish or weird, but in the end his curiosity got the better of him. Besides, it would be nice to know what to avoid in an attempt not to make an ass out of himself. Most of what he came across was sensationalised garbage until he finally came across the name of a columnist he had dealings with himself a few times, and knew the man could be trusted for a fair view on whatever topic his opinion pieces covered.

_Where In The World Is Kayley Taylor?_

_By Santino Marella.  
September 18, 2013_

_Back in 2003 a young band from the UK started making big waves during the American music festival season. A year later they had their first big hit as part of the soundtrack for the big summer blockbuster, The Marine, that vaults them from supporting act and into the main event. Bassist Sheamus Farrelly, drummer Drew McIntyre and guitarist Wade Barrett, despite being possibly the best set up ever for the 'an Englishman, Irishman and Scotsman walk into a bar' joke, perform with the skill and stage presence that some twice their age may never manage to find. But their ace in the hole is a firecracker that packs one hell of a bang; Kayley Taylor. With a set of pipes that could rival the likes of Aretha Franklin or the late Ronnie James Dio and Freddie Mercury, she possesses a __voice with the power and pain of rock one minute, then all the sensitivity of a soul diva the next._

_I've never made a secret of it, I truly believe that Bad Mile is one of the greatest bands of the modern age regardless of genre, which makes the tragedy that happened two years a go in Miami all the more crushing. While I have chronicled many of Bad Mile's trials and successes over the years, this will be more of a reflective piece ranging from the first time I met Miss Taylor; watching with excitement as she grew from a quiet Australian expatriate who was more than happy to relinquish the spotlight when not on-stage into one of the most confident and outspoken women on the music scene and her withdrawal from public life to the point where one simply must ask- where in the world did Kayley Taylor vanish to?_

_October 7, 2003: I was nervous the first time interviewing Kayley, so you could imagine my surprise when this beautiful young rock queen known for a phenomenal stage presence is even more anxious than I had been. I'm not quite sure what I had imagined our first meeting would be like, but I knew it didn't involve her hiding within the deep recesses of a hooded sweater and constantly pulling on the sleeve cuffs out of nervous habit. It was an endearing display of vulnerability and served to remind me that not everyone is who they seem to be while they stand under the scrutiny of the public eye. The beginning of the interview was tough going and I was almost on the verge of giving up trying to crack quite possibly one of the most indomitable shells I have ever encountered when, for whatever reason, she made a joke. It was a flippant and forgettable thing now, but at the time under all the tension it served its purpose and we both had a good laugh, opening one up to the other. To this day it is still one of my most favourite one on one talks I have done with any celebrity._

_Fast forward to December 2010. Seven years and five huge albums later I once again had the opportunity to meet with both Taylor and Wade Barrett. The change in attitude is a complete one eighty from our first encounter. Gone is any trace of that timid twenty year old girl and standing in her place is one of the most confident and secure women I have ever come across. As we progress through the interview I notice a certain energy between the two that had been absent in previous meetings -a certain sideways glance here, a fleeting touch there- and I eventually bring it up. For an answer she simply smiled and showed me her left hand, a simple gold band stood out amongst the heavier, more grandiose rings adorned with wolf, snake and skull motifs. After many months of rumours the cat was finally out of the bag; the two musicians were engaged._

_May 21, 2011: A murder occurs in one of Miami's best five star hotels. As more facts surface about the incident it's revealed that the victim was one Wade Barrett, stabbed multiple times by an unhinged stalker with an obsession over his newly-wed bride of only two weeks. Police snipers were given no choice but to shoot the offender after several hours of a tense stand off and failing negotiations as he holds the woman of his twisted affection hostage. The media frenzy surrounding the events explodes like a volcano, relentlessly trying to get past the formidable, unbuckling shield of the band's manager, one William Regal, to be the first to get an official statement from the woman herself. Several months later her home in London is on the market without explanation, Kayley having managed to sneak out of the country under cover of darkness. Several sightings are reported in Ibiza, Paris, Munich, Tokyo, LA, New York and several other major capitols until she wised up and avoids the cities, eventually causing the improvised game of 'Where's Wally' to dry up and the media monster turns its attention somewhere else._

_Wherever it is that Miss Taylor has gone to ground no-one knows, but if by some small miracle, act of fate or random chance that she reads these words I have this to say. You are not alone. We, your friends and fans, have not forgotten you. A light as bright as yours was not destined to fade away in the darkness of obscurity, and we will continue to wait patiently until whatever journey you're on reaches its conclusion and you once again rejoin us on the other side._

John read the piece several times while studying the pictures that complimented the article; some studio shots, others from live events and even one or two snapped backstage of the journalist and his subject. There was no doubt about it, this Kayley and the one next door were one and the same.

Armed with this knowledge he wondered what he was supposed to do now. There was no denying it to himself that he was decidedly attracted to her, but the apparent baggage she came with if he were to attempt something made his own pale in comparison. After long miserable months he had divorced his wife, had even cheated on her during their marriage, something he had managed to keep under wraps by paying out a huge out of court settlement. Following that it had been a string of one pretty up-and-coming actress after another as he refused to get tied down to anything above a casual fling. Kayley on the other hand had been witness to the brutal murder of her husband and terrorised for hours after the fact while his body lie in the same room in plain sight. How in the hell did a person cope with something as traumatic as that?

He thought of last night's incident at the bar and the man who had been at the centre of it. Getting a soldier to teach you how to shoot was one way of going about it he supposed.

His cell buzzed and he picked it up, "Hello, Vickie."

"John," His manager replied, "How would you like to like to be part of the newest kids awards show? They want to put you in the running for..." There was a moment of rustling papers until she found what she was looking for, "'Biggest Badass Of The Year'."

"Not very creative, is it?"

"It's aimed at children, John," Vickie countered, "What were you expecting, an Oscar? Do you want to do it or no?"

"Sure, why not. Where's it being held?"

"Los Angeles."

Finding a pen and paper he wrote down the necessary details, despite the fact that she would send him a few reminders in the mean time along with arranging airline tickets and whatever else he would need. When the call ended he stood up and stretched while looking out the window at the silent house across the way, wondering if he should roll the dice and go for it or give up the chase before either of them got hurt...

* * *

_I was going to draw the whole history thing out for perhaps a couple more chapters but hadn't worked a way out to do it that I felt happy with... then I got the article idea! I trust this answers most, if not all questions concerning our Miss Tailor's past, yes? Good. I'll be fine tuning it a little more as I go, but hopefully you enjoy sinking your teeth into this for the meantime. _

_I know things may seem a little slow paced right now, but those of you who are more long term readers of my stories will know that there could be something lurking just around the bend, you just don't know when I'm going to spring it on you :P_


End file.
